Cloak and Stagger
by pouncepounce
Summary: Follows Shepard and Garrus through ME2 on their mission to stop the Collectors. An extra OC as a key character in the story. Expands on what happens in between missions and behind the scenes. Shepard is a Colonist/War Hero. How will the relationship between the Commander, our favorite turian and the OC evolve throughout the events of ME2? Read on to find out! Slightly AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hey people!**

 **The idea for this story came to me when I was thinking about what other designations there are within the Alliance other than the "N". Where are all the other operatives? What do they do? Are they working behind the scenes? A bunch of unanswered questions.**

 **So I decided to write a story about what goes on behind the scenes, both within the Normandy and out, exploring the aspects of the story not mentioned or glazed over in the games.**

 **There are OC characters in this story, one of which is a key character and hence it is slightly AU, but not that much. Ashley and Wrex both survived Mass Effect 1.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

"Miranda, program the mech to turn on the mercs when they're activated," Shepard ordered, turning to the woman at her left flank, "Taylor and I'll keep watch."

Miranda nodded and briskly started to go to work on the terminal. She didn't quite trust the Cerberus operative, but Shepard recognised ability when it was presented. She wouldn't let her anxiety get in the way of the mission, not now, not with so much at stake. Although she wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of one of the Illusive Man's best operatives armed and behind her back during missions, nothing could be done about it. She had to make do and just press on. Just like she'd always done. Just press on.

She could not allow her personal opinions get in the way of her mission. So many lives were depending on her. The Collectors, the bastards that had apparently spaced her, were abducting colonists. _Human_ colonists.

A confused Miranda looked back at her, "Shepard, this mech has already been reprogrammed to turn on the mercs."

"How's that possible? Who would do that?" Taylor thought aloud. Shepard knew he was a good man, but being a Cerberus agent as well, she couldn't completely trust him either. At least he was ex-Alliance.

"Can't know for sure right now. We'll leave the mechs as they are for now, but keep your eyes peeled. Be prepared for anything," Shepard said as she moved out of the room and walked down the hall towards the barricade.

A Blue Suns merc walked by her on the way, "Freelancers, the next assault is about to start. Hurry your asses up into position!"

"Wish me luck," she replied dryly, but the merc had already turned the corner and out of her sight by the time she got the words out, moving hurriedly towards the barricaded area.

The rooms were empty as they walked towards the bridge and Shepard noticed a lone batarian working on a seemingly broken gun ship; from the way his legs appeared out from under the ship, Shepard could tell he was repairing the underside of the machine while lying on his back.

 _You're making this too easy,_ Shepard thought as she approached the batarian with lethal intent. However, as she stood over the body, she noticed the flow of a red fluid from underneath the ship at her feet. Lowering herself to the point where her face was almost touching the floor, she peered in to the small gap between the bottom of the ship and the floor to be met with the sight of Cathka's body wearing an expression of shock, complemented by a gaping hole through the middle of his forehead.

Shepard felt unnerved, not from the grotesquery of the corpse but from the fact that she was almost certain now that there was someone other than her lurking around the base and sabotaging the mercs themselves.

"I doubt the mercs would start killing each other again before they took care of Archangel," Miranda said as she approached Shepard by the gunship.

"I agree. Whoever did this probably isn't a member of the three merc groups," Shepard replied, "Maybe another freelancer, like us."

The Cerberus operative's brows furrowed as she thought through the multitude of different possibilities, while Jacob stood guard by the entrance.

"We have to keep moving for now," Shepard said, taking out her Avenger rifle, "I don't like going in blind but we don't have much time on our hands."

"I think they're about to start the final push, Shepard," Jacob said, peering out of the room and looking towards the barricades.

"Then we better hurry. Wouldn't want Archangel to die on us before we get to him."

They left the room and rushed on towards the barricade, where a Blue Suns turian was shouting out towards the freelancers, "All right! This is it freelancers, you're up first! Get into your damn positions!"

The freelancers were lined up with their backs against the barricade, firearms drawn, some with keen expressions while others with those which resembled regret. She didn't like their chances; if Archangel didn't take them out, she would have to. At least that stupid kid wasn't there.

The turian glanced down at Shepard, who was at a half crouch alongside the barricade with the rest of the freelancers, noticing the N7 logo on her chest plate, "The hell's an N7 doing here?"

Shepard shrugged, "Looted it. The fit was fine so I decided to keep it for myself."

"Right," the turian muttered, looking almost unconvinced, "Guess it's my lucky day. That thing's got to be worth a nice sum of credits."

 _You're going_ _die_ was what the turian was telling her, Shepard knew.

 _It'll be too late by the time you realise what's happening_ , she thought. She would have shown a grin if it were not for the extreme circumstances.

"Okay! Go, go, go!" the turian bellowed, waving the freelancers over the barricade.

Shepard vaulted over the wall and landed square on her feet, closely followed by Jacob and Miranda and looked up over to the balcony across the bridge. _Perfect for a sniper's nest_ , she thought.

Sprinting over to the nearest pillar to use as cover, she caught glimpses of several freelancers' heads disappearing into a cloud of gore. Archangel was no push over.

"Give'em hell. It's time to spill a little merc blood," she said, landing a headshot onto a freelancer ahead of her. She looked back towards the barricade to see the Blue Suns turian looking shocked with surprise.

"She's with Archangel!" he shouted, ordering a squad of mercs over the barricade to their deaths with a wave of his hand.

Instead of turning back to shoot at the mercs by the barricade, Shepard pushed on across the bridge as Jacob and Miranda covered her flank, weaving through enemy fire and the occasional concussive shot from Archangel.

Shooting at the backs of mercs was easy, but getting out?

 _One thing at a time,_ Shepard thought, _one thing at a time._


	2. Chapter 2

Shepard's heart skipped a beat, maybe two, as Archangel removed his mask. The visor he seemed to never take off, that particular shade of blue war paint and the way his mandibles flared subtly. There was no mistaking it.

"Garrus! What are you doing here?" was all Shepard could think of to say. What else _could_ she say? She was gone for two years, presumed dead. Hell, she actually _was_ dead. The last conversation they had was back on the Citadel, after the celebrations had ended and Shepard was about to be sent back out into the Terminus Systems. Garrus had insisted that he join her, but she was adamant that there was more that he could do in other parts of space. Shepard was not happy about hunting geth; _they weren't the real threat._

Hell, she was nervous. Garrus looked different. What if he was angry at her, or even worse, what if he pitied her? What if the last two years had broken him? What if the Vakarian she knew was gone? What if, what if, what if…

"That's my line, Shepard," Garrus replied, shrugging after giving a weak laugh. He looked tired and worn out, wearing an expression she had never seen him with in the past. She was getting better at reading turian expressions, but she could not tell what he was feeling. Something distant and abstract, yet also raw and unforgiving. "Hell, I thought you were dead."

"I _was_ dead," feeling strange saying those words, Shepard swallowed the uneasy feeling of uncertainty. Not knowing whether she truly was brought back from the dead and if Cerberus had not 'tinkered' with her in any way. Now was neither the time nor place for thoughts like those. More mercs were fast approaching towards the base; these ones were more heavily armed than before.

Behind the fast moving flow of mercs, a Heavy Mech was deployed, its multiple parts whirring and moving during the activation process, finishing with two full arms of firepower, _pointed at the mercs_.

"Nice going," Garrus said as he saw the Heavy Mech rip through the mercs from behind, while he simultaneously landed a headshot on an unsuspecting merc.

"Wasn't me. I thought of reprograming it myself, but someone beat me to it," Shepard replied, opening fire upon the mercs herself.

Garrus paused for a moment, visibly concerned, before resuming fire, "Same kind of thing on this side too."

Jacob and Miranda, both at Shepard's left, unleashed a biotic combination attack at the mercs below, making them fly high and fast into the air and off the edge of the bridge.

 _Nice_ , Garrus thought, but he did not utter the words out loud. He noticed the logos on their uniforms. _Cerberus_. "So, you run with a new crowd now?" he said almost nonchalantly, picking off another merc with a well-placed shot.

"We'll talk about it later, Garrus. For now, you need to trust me," Shepard said, her voice husky yet steady, as she grimaced, "Keep your head in the fight.

"Right," he said, silently reprimanding himself for letting his emotions get in the way of the primary objective, _staying alive._ This was uncharacteristic of him, _highly irregular_ , as Admiral Hackett might put it, but it was Shepard. She did that to people. He could not deny to himself that her appearance was filling him with more happiness and relief than he had ever felt in the last couple of years, despite his complete distrust for Cerberus and his lingering suspicion that the woman in front of him was merely an apparition he could see as a side effect of overloading on stims. The latter suspicion made him give a small chuckle; she _was_ a Spectre after all.

"These bastards just keep running down the bridge like a bunch of idiots," Miranda muttered, as she unloaded three shots from her handgun, all of them hitting a merc square in the face. It was impressive shooting, managing to maintain such accuracy with a pistol at that range, Shepard acknowledged in her head.

"They'd be swarming us through that door," Garrus pointed his turian equivalent of a thumb behind him while keeping his eyes to the sniper scope, "But someone closed the shutters that lead to this area."

"Divine intervention?" Shepard jokingly suggested, to which he gave a weak chuckle.

"I don't think archangels have guardian angels, Shepard. At least, in turian mythology –," but Garrus cut his sentence short as the squad noticed a barrage of rockets flying towards them from the barricade. _Too fast_.

The squad rolled away from the edge of the balcony quickly, but the combined explosive force of the projectiles was wide and strong, flinging all of them back across the room.

Shepard was blinded by the brightness of the explosion as she rolled across the floor until she hit the opposite wall with a loud thud. Her amour protected her from the scorching heat, preventing any significant damage. Quickly regaining her composure and picking up her Avenger, she visually scanned across the room. Jacob was getting up slowly, wiping the blood flowing from a light gash on his head, but his life wasn't in danger and he could still fight. Miranda, who was crouching and analysing the status of her squad mates just as Shepard was, showed no visible signs of damage.

What she saw next made her insides extremely uncomfortable. It almost made her feel physically sick, not from disgust, but from near panic.

"Garrus!" she shouted over the gunfire coming from outside the balcony, running towards the downed turian, who was seemingly unconscious, losing track of her surroundings. The bright fires caused by the explosions blurred and the loud footsteps of rushing mercs became soft and dull. Panicked thoughts raced through her mind as she turned Garrus over, revealing his severely burned face and nearly completely broken armour. What if he wouldn't wake up again?

That 'what if' almost froze her, locking up her body but leaving her mind to work at a lightning fast pace to go through all of the possible worst case scenarios. She momentarily returned to the frightened girl, too young to go through what she went through or to completely repair the damage that had been inflicted upon her innocence and that had robbed her of her life. She had thought Mindoir had taught her the lesson that no one deserved to learn; that people could be taken away in the cruellest and most unbefitting ways and that all she could do as a survivor was to deal with the aftermath, until it was her time to leave this world. She'd thought wrong. She wasn't allowed to leave this world yet. There was more to do, more orders to follow, more people to protect, the same galaxy to save. Hadn't she earned her damned rest? She didn't know if she could stand losing another; _losing her best friend._

A soft voice could be heard, indistinctive from her trance like state. _Shepard,_ it kept calling, becoming sharper each time.

"Shepard!" Miranda was shouting into the Commander's ear, shaking her shoulder back and forth.

Clarity returned to her thoughts, a strange calm washing over her in a necessary wave and adrenaline, combined with battered yet unrelenting resolve, giving her the boost she needed to get past the situation and complete the mission, _because that's just what she did._

The frightened little girl was gone again, just as quickly as she had taken over her. She was Commander Shepard and she was going to get the damned job done.


	3. Chapter 3

Shepard landed a barrage of slugs on an incoming batarian merc, his body getting battered against the impact of each projectile. _One down_ , she thought, _too many more to go,_ as she looked over the edge and down towards the ground floor of the compound, seeing Garm and his Blood Pack underlings swarm around the couches. She wiped away some of the near vision impairing soot and grime that covered her face from the constant gunfire and explosions.

"Blue Suns mercs are storming down the bridge, Commander!" Jacob shouted from the other side of the balcony, nestled in the corner and peeking over the vantage point, "Damn! That gunship is inbound!"

Shepard turned to confirm the information Taylor had relayed, but she didn't need to look too hard; the gunship was massive in size and fully armed. She tensed as the ship came into her view, before looking down upon the unconscious Garrus who was sprawled out in front of her, covered in blue. _Lots of blue_.

Turning back to her side of the balcony, she returned to opening fire on a group of vorcha, but there were simply too many of them. The three of them might be able to take care of the Blood Pack but they stood no chance against the Blue Suns and their gunship. They were being overwhelmed.

They weren't getting out of this one.

What a way to go out. She survived being spaced, only to be finished off by a bunch of damn mercs. Honestly, though, _she was tired_. Although none of the many she'd killed were innocents, she had always felt a lingering guilt throughout her military career. Philosophically and theoretically, all of her kills were morally justifiable, but emotionally? Whatever the reason, taking a life was never easy, but someone had to do it, right? She'd always told herself that she was left with no other choice when she made a kill, that she was _doing the right thing._ Hell, she would even go as far as to say that she'd made a positive difference in the galaxy. She'd served well. That had to count for something, right? But to tell the truth, she was never completely comfortable with considering the act of killing someone as 'doing the right thing'. One day she would atone, she had always told herself, _one day_.

And that day had finally come. She was ready to move on to the next life. One woman could only shoulder so much blood, so much loss.

She heard the gunship start firing behind her, exhaling slowly and almost calmly closing her eyes _for the last time_ , she thought.

But the burning flames of catharsis never reached her.

"Shepard! The gunship's turning on the Blue Suns!" Miranda shouted over the loud and explosive sounds of the heavy weapons fire.

Shepard turned towards the bridge side of the balcony for the second time, this time to be met by the sight of the gunship's weapons raining down on the mercs below.

She paused involuntarily for a moment before becoming animated again.

"Guess it's our lucky day, for now at least," she said, checking the number of thermal clips she had left. Two, including the one already in her rifle.

"Leave the gunship to take care of the Blue Suns. We'll take care of the Blood Packs downstairs," Shepard looked over Miranda, who was attempting to concentrate through intense exhaustion, and Jacob, who looked no better, "It'll be tight, but if we play it right, there's still a chance yet that we make it out of this alive."

Her two squad members nodded in acknowledgement, renewed determination glowing in their eyes. Over the years, she'd learned just how important morale really was; it could quite literally make the difference between a catastrophe and a successful mission.

* * *

Garm was writhing around on the ground, gurgling and choking on the blood flowing out through the hole in his neck, as he tried to cover up the wound with his wide hands.

"It's not over yet!" he roared, his voice echoing throughout the room, spluttering copious amounts of blood over his chest.

"Actually," Shepard said, standing over him so that a shadow was cast over him, "It is."

She pulled the trigger on her Predator pistol five times with the barrel pressed hard against Garm's head, controlling the recoil so that every shot landed right in his skull, leaving the krogan's face nearly unrecognisable.

"Archangel is unconscious but he is still alive. He requires medical attention as soon as possible," Miranda said over the comms, exhaling deeply, "I can't believe you pulled that off, Shepard."

Relief washed over Shepard as she heard those words. _He was still alive._

" _We_ pulled it off," Shepard replied, "And it's not over yet. Call in for extraction via shuttle."

She had found that no one was exempt from the effect of morale on performance; even Commander Shepard herself.

"Already done."

She was coming to trust the Cerberus operatives a little more; going through near hell together did that to people.

She looked over towards the entrance to the compound, where she could see an unarmed Blue Suns merc walking towards them with his hands raised. The menacing gunship was landed behind him on the bridge.

"Stop right there," Jacob called over to the merc, the familiar blue aura glowing around both of his hands.

"I want some answers, and you're going to want to give them to me. Quickly." Shepard added with a menacing tone.

"Sure thing, Shepard," the merc said, almost light heartedly, "I come in peace."

He stopped to remove his mask, revealing the face of a human male who looked to be in his early thirties, with short but well styled light brown hair and looking well groomed. His skin was fair but not pale and showed both roughness and gentleness. He was wearing a light smile on his face, managing to look inquisitive, focused, ruthless and casual, all at the same time.

 _A man of many faces,_ Shepard thought.

But there was something familiar about him.


	4. Chapter 4

Shepard's eyes widened as she recognised the man's face and it registered with the memories of her childhood back on Mindoir. Now it was her turn to be seeing ghosts.

"Lance?" she asked with a voice quieter than usual, the barrel of her handgun firmly pointed towards the figure.

He smiled and continued to step toward her at a gentle pace, dropping the helmet and keeping his hands in the air, "It's been a good while, my dear friend."

The voice was soft yet assertive, just as she remembered it, but a little deeper.

"ETA of the evac shuttle is three minutes, Commander," Shepard heard Miranda's voice over the comms.

"I'm assuming that was all you?" she questioned, her pistol still raised.

"You're quite right. Thought you'd need all the help you can get," Lance replied, "And I think you still do."

"What're you saying?"

"Having me on your team would improve your chances of taking down the Collectors."

"What if I say no?" Shepard said, tightening her grip on the pistol.

"I wasn't exactly asking, Shepard," he replied and gave a small grin.

"How can I trust you, after all these years?"

"I don't remember seeing 'trust issues' on your files," Lance said as he turned his grin into something more of a smirk, echoing the expression he often made back on Mindoir when they were still children.

There was a long pause while Shepard considered everything that _could_ be considered, before she ordered Jacob to lower his weapon and holstered her own.

"I thought you were dead, Lance," she said. The last memory she had of the man in front of her was that of when they were both sixteen years old. Bright fires and searing heat. Loud gunfire. Smoke burning in her lungs. Through the small opening in the cabinet she had crammed herself into she saw the limp body of her friend, _her only friend_ , being carried away by a pair of batarians as they carelessly trampled over the charred corpses of her parents.

"As you can see," Lance said, waving a hand down over himself, "Still alive and kicking. Thankfully."

* * *

She turned to the sound of the door opening to see a turian wearing severely damaged blue armour come into view.

"Shepard," Garrus said with a strength and calm that so closely resembled his usual voice that she would have thought that he was completely fine, but she knew better.

Jacob gave a light chuckle, "Tough son of a bitch. Didn't think he'd be up yet."

"Nobody would give me a mirror," Garrus said light-heartedly as he walked into the room, still keeping up his facade, "How bad is it?"

"Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly," Shepard went along, grinning, "Slap some face paint on and nobody will even notice."

He laughed at her comment, appreciating her attempt to keep things light as they always did, even in the most serious of situations. Sometimes the banter that they shared between them was the only thing that kept her sane, and she suspected that it was the same for Garrus.

Garrus groaned sharply in pain, "Oh don't make me laugh. Dammit, my face is barely holding together as it is."

This made Shepard's expression turn into one of concern, the sight of which made Garrus nervous. He didn't want her to be worried.

"Some women find facial scars attractive," he said, quickly trying to alleviate her worry, "Mind you, most of those women are krogan.

Jacob stiffened, a little uncomfortably, before saluting and excusing himself, eyes slightly lowered. He had probably mistakenly thought that Garrus was _seriously_ hitting on the Normandy's CO, but once again, she knew better. It was one of the things that they did to keep things bearable.

"Frankly, I'm more worried about you. Cerberus, Shepard," Garrus spoke with a more serious tone, as the door closed behind Jacob, "You remember those sick experiments they were doing?"

"That's why I'm glad you're here, Garrus," she replied, equally serious now, "If I'm walking into hell I want someone I trust at my side."

"You realise this plan has me walking into hell too," he said after a moment of consideration, his tone returning to normal, "Hmm. Just like old times."

The door opened before he finished speaking and Lance stepped into the room, "In more than one way."

As the door closed behind him, he stood still, looking on towards Garrus intently. He was out of the Blue Suns armour and was now in a navy blue suit, the style of which was a blend of both modern designs and its 21st century predecessors.

"Lance Silverwood," he introduced himself with a friendly expression.

"Garrus Vakarian," he replied with a nod, looking a little confused.

"He was your 'guardian angel'," Shepard clarified, falling back onto one leg to form a relaxed posture.

"Right," Garrus said, "Guess I should thank you. Might not have gotten out of there alive if it weren't for you."

"My pleasure, Vakarian. My pleasure." Lance replied, a subtle smile forming on his face, and gestured towards the Commander, "Any friend of Shepard's is a friend of mine."

"You two know each other?" Garrus asked, looking towards Shepard.

"We grew up together, back on Mindoir. Until…" Shepard trailed off as she grimaced.

"Yes. It was _such_ an inconvenience when the batarians arrived," Lance joked, before quickly changing the subject as he noticed her obvious discomfort, "More importantly; I've gotten rid of most of the bugs hidden around the Normandy."

Shepard looked towards the man with an expression of slight anger at the fact that the Illusive Man had had bugs planted around her ship, while Garrus just gave him the look of a silent _nice going,_ before bringing up his omnitool and scanning the room.

"There's a couple in here as well," he said, before proceeding to remove them and returning a few moments later with the deactivated devices laid out in his three taloned hand.

"That should be all of them," Lance said, looking at his own omnitool.

"Well, now that we have some _real_ privacy," Shepard said, looking at Lance with a slightly fierce yet soft and caring look, "Spill."

"Uh, should I-," Garrus started, looking between the two old friends, but he was cut off by Lance.

"You may stay. I understand that, although you are not the official XO of the Normandy, you are essentially Shepard's right hand man and her closest ally," the man said in a matter of fact way.

Garrus paused briefly, blinking thrice in the space of a second, and crossed his arms, "Alright."

Lance gave a long, drawn out sigh before proceeding, as if a heavy load were about to be lifted off of his shoulders. "I've haven't recounted my real story to anyone in a long time, but for you, Shepard, anything."

Shepard gave him a nod, both as thanks and as a signal for him to proceed with his story when he was ready.

"The batarians back on Mindoir took me back to their ships. I woke up to be told that I would be a slave. The conditions there were terrible, to put it lightly," Lance shifted before he continued, trying to sound matter of fact, "Bad times, bad times. The stuff of nightmares, really."

Lance's eyes looked glassy as he remembered his time as a slave to the batarians, "One day I finally managed to escape, somehow. But fate hadn't had its way with me yet, wanted to yank me around a little more. I eventually ran into an individual from the Systems Alliance. He saw talent and recruited me."

Lance crossed his arms as he looked on towards the Commander, "You're an N7, Shepard, but there are other designations, as you know. One of those is the designation 'E', for individuals concerned with matters of intelligence."

"Like STG agents?" Shepard asked.

"Similar, but not quite. Individuals with the 'E' designation are leaders in the field of intelligence, but they don't actually go out into the field," Lance replied, "Nowadays, a physical presence is hardly ever a prerequisite for activities such as data interception and espionage."

"So you won't be a part of the ground team?" Shepard inquired again.

"Oh, I'm not 'E' designated," Lance answered, "I'm the one they call on when there's some 'leg work' that needs taking care of. They always make it sound so simple in the briefing, but it _really_ never is."

"How come I've never heard of these 'E' designated individuals?" the Commander asked, full of questions.

"I'm getting there, Shepard," Lance joked, "The 'E' designated are secretive to begin with, but the organisation I work for takes it a little to the extreme. I'm breaking god knows how many regulations by telling you two this."

"Is that so," she mused, looking a little unconvinced.

"Surely you must have guessed something like this existed. All that intel has to come from somewhere."

"Right," Shepard said, "Do they even know that you're coming with me? With Cerberus?"

"They know a lot, Shepard. We don't ignore evidence when it's presented to us and aren't bound by bureaucratic nonsense. We don't answer to the Council. They might not be happy about your affiliation with Cerberus and refuse to help you with getting rid of the Collectors, or deny the existence of the Reapers all together, but we know better than that. It's our job to."

Silence filled the air as countless unanswered questions lingered in the air between the three and for a moment they just stood there as Lance watched Shepard and Garrus think about what they had just been told.

Garrus was the one to break the silence, "So, what can you do?"

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to review; literally any sort of feedback, whether it be in the form of a positive review or even just plain trashing my fic, is appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Shepard, being the hard worker that she is, got straight to recruiting Mordin and Zaeed** ** **without any complications** , with no real breaks in between, right after rescuing Garrus, all so that I can get to the stuff I want to write about.**

 **What a reliable protagonist ;)**

 **So, for now she's back to her rounds again.**

* * *

With Mordin, Zaeed and Garrus in tow, their business on Omega was finished and they were now heading towards the Citadel. After all, the Council just _might_ be interested in finding out that an MIA Spectre, presumed dead, was actually alive.

 _They might even be excited_ , Shepard thought smugly, knowing full well that in reality they would just bury her with questions, ignore her answers and reprimand her for 'joining' Cerberus. She almost wanted to just skip the meeting with the Council altogether, but she had to warn them about the Reaper threat _again_ , even if they were just going to deny it. _Again._

For now, though, there was the usual down time between systems and Relays, where she would plan strategies and tactics for missions or maintain her physical conditioning down in the makeshift gym. Often times she also found herself getting to know her crewmates, especially those who were in her ground team. Knowing and trusting each other and considering your own team as one unit not only bolstered combat efficiency while ground side, but also helped boost morale during a mission, especially one which spanned over a period of months. Early in her military career, before she even became an officer, Shepard's CO had taught her just how important trust was for a team. _Trust is the oil a squad needs to act as the killing machine it's been designed to be,_ he'd once told her and it was now her job to make sure that the Normandy crew were indeed _well oiled_ if they were even going to have a shot at stopping the Collectors.

During her time as an officer, she had developed a habit of going around to each of her crew and checking up on them when she had the time and back on the SR1, she almost always started with Joker. It was a different ship, the lights were brighter and the crew wore white, black and yellow, but there he was, as always, tapping at the panels and working through the fast streams of on-screen data as if it were second nature. _More like_ first _nature_ , Shepard thought as she walked up to the pilot's chair, silently appreciating how comfortable it made her feel to approach this area of the ship. It was the start of her rounds, the momentary freedom she gave herself when she wasn't the ruthless Commander, but just Shepard. She almost missed being _just Shepard_ , before all of this, but nothing could be done. _Someone_ had to stop the damn Reapers.

It also made her a little uncomfortable, knowing that this feeling of reminiscence and familiarity was _exactly_ what the Illusive Man had probably intended when he had the SR2 created, obviously designed in homage to the original Normandy.

"Can you believe this Commander?" Joker called over his shoulder and spinning his seat to face her as he noticed her approaching behind him, "It's my baby, better than new! It fits me like a glove!"

A genuine smile was on his face as he looked up towards Shepard and dug himself in comfortably in his seat, "And leather seats! Military may set the hardware standard, but on a first-gen frigate they could care less if the seats breathe. Civilian sector comfort by design."

Seeing her favourite pilot with a stupid grin plastered on his face made her previous discomfort disappear almost completely.

"The reproduction is not intended to be perfect, Mr. Moreau. Seamless improvements were made," said a synthetic voice, which Shepard knew was the one that belonged to EDI as she'd just recently been introduced.

"And _there's_ the downside," Joker said, rolling his eyes, "I liked the Normandy when she was beautiful and quiet. Now she's got this thing I don't want to talk about. It's like ship cancer."

"It's not the same, Joker," her discomfort returning now, "There's nothing here that was even part of the real Normandy."

"There's us. I have to take what I can get," Joker replied, shifting his eyes slightly, "The last two years sucked."

The pilot looked a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact with Shepard for a few moments until he finally brought it back to her, "You'll see. Even if an AI is spying on us, no way they'll invest this much just to screw us over. It'll be better than the old days."

"You know, Joker," Shepard said, "I do hope you're right, but I'm not really convinced."

"Honestly, neither am I, Commander, but it sure as hell beats _living in hell_ ," Joker said, this time completely lowering his eyes away from Shepard's.

There was a long silence that followed, filled only by the ever present hum of the ship and the sound of the crew working quietly in the background, and now that his mouth was shut and his face was expressionless, she could see just how bad of a condition Joker seemed to be in. _He looks like shit_ , Shepard thought, in a way she had never thought about the pilot before. He looked weak and tired, he was thinner than before and most of the fire in his eyes had been extinguished. No matter how hard things got, Joker had always had _something_ clever to say to lighten up the mood. _Or to maintain his own sanity_. Yet nothing but silence was exchanged between the two until some time had passed and Joker opened his mouth again.

"Commander," he started, almost trembling, " _Shepard_. I – I'm sorry."

Saying those words seemed to break the man as his faced scrunched up and his entire body clenched into a stiff figure, as two years of emotions rushed through him. Fear, that she was gone for good. Anger, that she hadn't just left him behind and escaped. Regret, that he hadn't evacuated earlier along with the rest of the crew. Guilt, unmerciful and unending. _Guilt_.

Not knowing what to say, being overwhelmed by a storm of emotions herself, Shepard simply placed a hand on Joker's shoulder, firm and strong, wiping away his unshed tears. The man didn't cry; he'd had two full years to mourn and weep.

"It's alright, Joker," she said softly, keeping her hand on his shoulder and looking firmly into his eyes, "It's alright."


	6. Chapter 6

On her way down to the crew quarters in the elevator after talking to Mordin and Jacob , she had found that the former Alliance soldier was quite reserved. He hadn't revealed much to her, other than his discomfort about working with Cerberus, which was a sentiment that they shared. She quickly realised that her initial judgement of the man had been wrong; despite the logo he wore on his uniform, he was on the good side, just like her. _Or at least she_ wanted _to think she was still on the good side._

Other than that though, the man was quiet and formal, a little more so than Shepard preferred, but she hoped that he would open up to her eventually on his own accord. She'd found that waiting patiently for people usually lead to a better outcome than forcing them, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Mordin was a totally different case altogether, his quick speech and sharp gestures filled the air around him comfortably in a bubble of informed confidence, but she sensed the salarian was hiding something about his time back in the STG, but she pressed no further. She was by no means an expert in xenopsychology, but she hoped that her patented 'wait for them to open up on their own after some time together' method worked for salarians as well. If he didn't tell her what his secret was and she decided that it was something that affected the mission, she would eventually have to take a more direct approach, but until then, she'd hold back. Honestly, she had almost no idea what salarians were like as a squad mate, but she'd get it eventually; she had managed it quite successfully in the SR1 with her old crew, after all.

Whatever the case, she'd just keep bugging them for now, whenever she got the time. _They have to give in eventually_ , she thought, smiling to herself almost mischievously.

Her thoughts floated back to reality and the mission at hand. What was ahead of her was daunting and only with the best of the best would she be able to get the job done. As the door opened to the crew quarters, Shepard rigidly made her way through the mess at a brisk pace.

 _It's all on me_ , Shepard thought. There was no Alliance, no back up and no protocol to guide her this time around. She only had her own ethics and principles to refer to and no one would come and save her in a pinch; she _was_ the last line of defence for the colonies being abducted by the Collectors. _Hold the line_ , Shepard told herself, _hold the line_.

She nodded at Gardner as she passed him on her way to the main battery, the door's display glowing in an inviting green. A lone source of comfort came from the knowledge that Garrus trusted her completely, perhaps more so than she trusted herself. _That_ was true loyalty. Words could not describe the relief she had felt when she saw Garrus back on Omega for the first time in what felt like years. _It_ had _been years,_ Shepard reminded herself.

She had lost her best friend once, or rather, he had lost her, but she wasn't going to let it happen again, she told herself. Yet, nothing was guaranteed. For all she knew, the entire crew could be dead the next day, the next _moment_ , even. One mistake, one misstep was all it took for everything to fall apart.

Shepard opened the door to be met with the sight of Garrus already at work with the central console, which she assumed was being used to optimise the main cannon's firing algorithms.

"Shepard," Garrus said as he turned around to face her, "Need me for something?"

"Have you got a minute?" Shepard asked, starting with the line she always used.

"Sure," he said, shrugging, "Just checking the weapons systems. You can never be too careful."

Shepard arched a brow playfully and crossed her arms, " _Really_ now?"

"There's always _something_ around that can be calibrated," Garrus replied, a wry grin spreading across his face, "I thought I'd seen every weapon in the galaxy in our fight against Saren. Mercenary work showed me otherwise."

He continued as Shepard made her way further into the room to lean onto the railing by the terminal, "And now Cerberus rebuilds the Normandy with a few upgrades to boot. I wish we'd joined up with them sooner."

Shepard shook her head with a sharp gaze. "We haven't _joined_ Cerberus. They're funding our mission. That's _all_."

"Relax, Shepard," Garrus said, raising his hand and shifting on his feet a little nervously under her narrowed eyes, "Just a figure of speech."

He was taller than her, _much_ taller _,_ and yet she could level him with a mere look. _That's Shepard for you_ , Garrus thought.

"I can't exactly doubt your judgement. Not after I got my own squad killed."

Garrus looked down, his tone lowered and mandibles flaring weakly, to which Shepard's gaze instantly turned from one which displayed control and confidence to another that showed compassion and care.

* * *

"I lost my whole team except for Sidonis," Garrus, now outside of the main battery, said wearing a stone cold look, his voice calm and sounding almost matter of fact, "One day I'll find him and correct that."

Anyone else might have been fooled by the turian's cool demeanour, but Shepard knew better. Behind the stoic façade lay a dormant beast ready to strike down his betrayer. Just as a blue flame looks cooler than a yellow flame despite its higher temperature, true rage in its purest form manifested itself within a person as a strange calmness. It was cold, not hot as it was often depicted, numbing the emotions of the individual until there was only one solution. Revenge.

Shepard knew what Garrus was feeling all too well, the primitive rage had once enveloped her every being. Losing Alenko had done that to her and Saren _had_ to pay. Nothing else mattered. Hell, even stopping the Reapers had become secondary.

She had Saren in her sights. One more shot would do it; he was weakened and defenceless. She was about to pull the trigger, about to finally bring an end to the numbing rage, when Garrus stopped her. _He's useless to the Reapers now; we can bring him in Shepard. We'll deal with him appropriately,_ he'd said, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. After several long moments of deep contemplation, she'd come to a resolve. He was right; killing Saren now would be cold blooded murder, nothing more, nothing less. But then, Saren had pulled the trigger on himself. Some of that turian honour had still remained within. _Or perhaps it was cowardice,_ Shepard had thought.

Garrus had saved her from destroying what she was, from defacing what she had stood for her whole life. She didn't understand _exactly_ how Garrus was feeling at that moment; Saren had not betrayed her personally, while this Sidonis _had_ done that to her friend. However, Garrus also had not known _exactly_ how she was feeling about the loss of Alenko either. The lieutenant had meant more to her than he did to Garrus. _Much_ more.

Yet, Garrus still intervened to save her from herself. This time it was _her_ turn to save her friend. Her _best_ friend.

When the time came, she decided, she would return the favour.


	7. Chapter 7

Upon entering the Normandy XO's office, Shepard was met with the sight of a near confrontation between her and the _unexpected addition._

Miranda was staring up at Lance with an icy glare, sitting down with arms and legs crossed to form an authoritative posture. Lance remained standing, his hands loosely linked together behind his back, his expression remaining mostly neutral, if not slightly amused.

"Commander," Miranda said with a nod to acknowledge Shepard's presence, "I was just conducting an interview with Silverwood. He wasn't a part of the dossiers that the Illusive Man had provided so I just wanted to make sure that he was a stable fit for the team. Standard psychological analysis. "

"Are you second guessing me, Lawson?" Shepard asked sternly, arms crossed and feet firmly planted on the floor. The last thing she needed was the Illusive Man's favourite little agent interfering with how she ran things on _her_ ship.

"Of course not, Shepard. Just standard procedure," Miranda replied, her voice unwavering, "There's a reason we brought you back and I trust your decisions, even if it means taking on an unaccounted variable as a part of the crew."

Lance's secret involvement within the Alliance's covert E7 division was kept just that; a secret. Other than Shepard and Garrus, Silverwood was known to the Normandy crew as an old friend of Shepard's who was also an Alliance lieutenant. According to their fabricated story, they had met on Elysium a few months prior to the events of the Skyllian Blitz, during which the then Gunnery Chief Shepard had performed such acts of heroism to be awarded the Star of Terra.

The Illusive Man would find nothing of suspicion in his files; they had been created 'out of thin air' from scratch, with meticulous detail, by the Alliance E7s themselves.

"Good. Just making sure you remember who's in charge on this ship," Shepard said as she turned back towards the door, "Carry on."

"Actually, we had just finished," Miranda said coldly, " _Accommodations_ have been arranged for Silverwood. He will be staying in the Port Observation Deck."

The Commander turned to Silverwood inquisitively, to which the man replied with a relaxed smirk, "A free bar is always good company."

"As long as you're ready when I need you," Shepard said, "Everyone has to unwind sometimes."

Shepard knew that most people within the Alliance thought of her as a strict, whip-wielding CO, the sort that never knew how to have some fun. She didn't blame them; actually it was sort of intentional. More often than not, people saw things they weren't quite familiar with only in terms of black and white, of extremes. Better to be seen as a strict, by the books, no-play officer than as an incompetent slacker.

However, those who had served with her knew that she was a CO that knew when to kick back and just relax between missions and her _officer duties_. _Work hard, relax hard_ , she had often jokingly said to Alenko back on the SR1 to coax the reserved and near antisocial soldier to join in on the occasional moments of fun the crew were able to spare during some rare down time. Ever the loyal subordinate, he would eventually cave in after she playfully threatened to pull rank on him.

 _Alright, alright,_ he would say, _whatever you say Commander._ Although he would join reluctantly at first, he would always end up leaving the group with a smile on his face after the fun was over.

"Well, now that _that's_ settled, I'll be at my new abode if you need me, Shepard," Lance said as he strode out of the room, "Good day, Lawson."

"Actually, _I_ might go for a drink right now," Shepard said, "Mind if I join you for a bit?"

"Not at all," Lance replied, stopping to turn back and reveal a surprised smile, "It _has_ been a long day, after all."

* * *

There was a strange silence between them while Shepard sat on a bar stool waiting for Lance, who was preparing the drinks. They had been so close back on Mindoir, yet that was so long ago. Seemingly an eternity had passed since then that Shepard hardly recognised the girl she once was as an earlier version of herself. So naïve, so ignorant and so blissfully happy.

"A personal favourite," Lance said, turning around from behind the bar counter to face Shepard, putting forth two identical drinks.

She held the short glass in her hand, appraising her old friend's concoction; the drink was clear, except for a layer of blue liquid that covered the top, with a very strong smell. The glass was icy cold in her hands, to the point that it almost made her fingers numb.

"Best served cold," Lance said as he observed Shepard flinch upon contact with the cooled glass.

Lance moved around the bar counter to take a seat at the stool to Shepard's left. They shared a moment's silence as they took their initial sips.

To Shepard's surprise, the taste of the drink betrayed her sceptical expectations she had had from its strong olfactory kick. It was very smooth and a little sweet, but not too much so. It was just right.

"You're right, this _is_ good," Shepard said appreciatively and almost contemplatively, her eyes lowered at the drink in her hand.

"Something I learned over the years. It's an art form in itself, bartending. There's almost always _something_ new to learn," Lance said thoughtfully, "The extreme _chilliness_ counteracts the liqueur's strong taste."

"Know any other drinks?" Shepard asked almost casually, taking another sip.

"You'll be glad to know that my repertoire is quite rich," Lance replied mock proudly, before quickly adding, "For an amateur, of course."

"Impressive," Shepard said simply.

"I'm full of surprises," Silverwood said, meeting Shepard's gaze. They were close now, the first time they had been in such close physical proximity of one another in over a decade. But they were different now. Things were not as they had once been. Everything had changed.

"Speaking of surprises," Shepard said, averting her eyes in the midst of a mood she could only describe as being _ever so slightly tense_ , "I never thought I'd see you again, and apparently you go by the name 'Silverwood' now?"

The entire ship had been cleared out of hidden cameras and audio bugs by Garrus and Lance, so they could afford some privacy now. What was said behind closed doors now _remained_ hidden.

Lance gave a wry laugh as he looked back down at his drink, "Yeah. Company policy. It's meant to keep the employees' families protected, although it doesn't really matter in my case, does it?"

Shepard also looked away into the distance as she briefly came across the images of her parents in her mind, spoiling her younger self with love and compassion, until that fateful day. She did not grieve anymore, the scars were there but they were well over a decade old. Her hatred towards the batarians as a species had all but disappeared. She knew they weren't _all_ bad from firsthand experience. Her hatred towards the _specific_ batarian slavers, however, still remained deep within her as an inert fossil tamed and put to rest over years of service. The seething hot hatred that had once flowed through her veins had dried out, replaced with the will to serve the Alliance, to protect her crew and to maintain peace within the galaxy.

Both of them were orphans and Shepard hoped that Lance had come to terms with the death of his own family just as she had. People who went through hell deserved at _least_ that, but life never pulled punches. In her case, once the nightmares of Mindoir had mostly ceased, they were replaced by those spawned by the memories and stresses of her Alliance career, about comrades she had lost in the past and those she feared she would lose in the future. Shepard suspected that Lance had started learning about bartending and alcoholic beverages as a way to cope with the sleepless nights.

A good drink was always a good 'cure' for restlessness.

So were friends. _Good_ friends that could be trusted, and for her, Lance was one of them again.

"We still have each other, right buddy?" Shepard said softly, turning to face him again and putting an endearing hand on his shoulder.

"Right," Lance replied with a smile on his face more genuine than most he had worn in years, looking back carefully into Shepard's caring gaze.


	8. Chapter 8

They were on the Citadel now and Shepard was talking to the so called _Master Thief_ , Kasumi Goto, via an advertisement terminal. She looked a little uncomfortable talking to a terminal in the open, but there were few enough people passing by to have the conversation in confidence.

"His name was Keiji Okuda. The _best_ hacker and entryman I've ever known," Goto said, almost proudly, before she tipped her head so her hood covered more of her face and continued while trying to sound nonchalant, "Unfortunately, he slipped up and made himself infamous." She looked down even lower, now with a little sternness in her voice, "He stole something he shouldn't. He warned me it was bad, something that could spark interstellar war if it got out. That information," she paused for a moment and Shepard thought that she could almost hear the thief stifle a breath, "got him killed."

Shepard could almost sympathise with the thief, although it sounded ridiculous for a military officer, but it was obvious that Goto and Okuda were very close and she knew how losing someone like that made a person feel. _Make the ones responsible pay,_ Shepard had thought after managing to crawl through the initial wave of grief after Virmire, before another invaded her mind. _It was your own damn fault._

Forcibly dragging herself back to reality by shaking her head lightly, Shepard looked at the visual of the thief, trying to get a good lock on her eyes but to no avail, "What could he have found that's so bad?"

"He wouldn't say what it was, just that it was dangerous. He said if it got out, humanity would be in trouble," the thief answered, sounding a little disappointed before that hint of pride in her voice from earlier returned, "He encrypted it, wrapped it up in his own memories. To decode the information, you have to sift through all the time we spent together. Now those memories are all that's left of him."

The conversation was getting a little too personal for Shepard's preference and she hesitated to say what she was going to say next, but she did anyways, "I can understand why you'd want to get it back. We'll get that graybox, Goto. You have my word." This wasn't a promise between a soldier and a thief, but one between two individuals who knew what the loss of a 'significant other' felt like.

"Thank you, Shepard. Getting it back will be a whole lot easier with your help," the thief said, allowing a small amount of relief slip through the cracks of her façade and into her voice. Then, almost without warning, the thief's emotional barrier was brought up again, her voice sounding almost _excited_ , "It'll be fun. And if we're lucky, you won't even have to draw your gun." Deactivating the advertisement via her omnitool, the thief looked down towards Shepard and her squad with a hand on her hip, "We should probably wrap this up. You look pretty silly standing there talking to an advertisement."

Shepard looked up towards the source of the voice, a little shocked to see that Goto was standing on a hidden walkway above them. Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

"See you on the ship, Shepard," the thief said mischievously and activated her cloak, shrouding her slender figure completely. It was _very_ advanced and high quality, Shepard noted, distracting herself from her slight embarrassment.

"Well," she said, turning around to her squad, "That's that. Let's go head over to see Anderson."

"Of course," Lance replied as he and Garrus followed Shepard at her flanks as they made their way toward the entrance to the Zakera Ward, "I believe that Miss Goto will be a great asset to the team, if you're willing to look past her criminal record."

"You know her?" Shepard said with an inquisitive brow raise, glancing back but not slowing her pace. Garrus had hung around enough humans to know what that facial expression meant, although he found it difficult at first; turians communicated subtle feelings and emotions with sub harmonics and mandibles.

"Not personally, but I _am_ familiar with her rather _colourful_ track record," Lance said, "She's good, but not enough to stay under _our_ radars."

Shepard knew that by 'our', Lance meant those of his E7 colleagues. "Anything I should know?" She didn't feel too comfortable with prying about someone's past indirectly and not through a conversation with the individual in question, but this was important. If she was going to have a thief aboard her ship, she wanted to know as much as she could about her.

"Plenty, but too much to cover now. In short, she's done nothing that would seriously harm innocent civilians. She once 'stole'," Lance said, using air quotes, although he was not sure Shepard could see them as she had already mostly turned away from him, "a group of slaves from a batarian slaver group. Dropped them off at Arcturus Station."

Shepard could respect that, she really could. The more people saved and the less slavers there were the better. Although she did not approve of the thief's disregard for the law, she did approve of her intentions.

"We later found the wreckage of the slaver ship drifting in space, the investigation of which revealed that Miss Goto had shut off life support and tampered with their drive core," Lance finished.

"Impressive," Garrus muttered quietly.

Shepard agreed with him, but she could not let her guard down. _"_ And _dangerous._ Remember to keep an eye on her for the time being. Noble intentions can sometimes cause a shit storm of _bad_ without the right training and discipline."

"Of course," Lance said as they arrived at the entrance gate, "I see anything fishy, you'll be the first to know."

* * *

It had been good talking to Anderson. Her former CO had been glad that she was still alive and kicking. During their conversation, he'd revealed some of his frustrations about the Council and politicking in general; she almost felt bad for choosing Anderson to be the Human Councillor, but he was the best possible candidate she could think of.

Although she did not _like_ Udina, she didn't dislike the man either. He may be unpleasant at times, _scratch that,_ most _of the time,_ but usually he was just doing his job. The man was cunning, sly and knew the ins and outs of the game, and would no doubt do a lot for humanity as their representative figure, but Shepard felt that Anderson was a better _leader_ than Udina.

Despite having been under his command for only one _real_ mission, Anderson had been an excellent leader; he did not need to demand respect, people gave it to him subconsciously and willingly.

Her feelings of respect and admiration were shadowed by those she had towards the Council. They had been the same as she remembered them; slow and complacent. She saved their asses and this is how they treated her? She needed all the help she could get, and they were _forcing_ her to have to get resources from a damn terrorist organisation.

Exercising her military training, Shepard kept her head cool and collected herself before she got too upset. They were also just doing their jobs anyway _and_ they'd given her back her Spectre status, with which she could regain access to Spectre Requisitions.

A genuine grin formed on her face at the thought of fresh new state of the art weapons and armour. Spectre grade equipment was by no means cheap, but Spectre funding was _very_ good. At least it _was_ for an Alliance soldier used to standard issue _everything_.


	9. Chapter 9

Cerberus gear was good and the trip to Spectre Requisitions was mostly unnecessary as the weapons and armour Shepard currently had equipped were on par in terms of quality standards. However, there was one exception; the M-39 Stingray Assault Rifle. The weapon's design, similar to that of the Avenger rifle, had caught Shepard's eye immediately as she browsed through the available equipment. Old, familiar and reliable, yet with a rehashed look and some new tricks. The M-39 was silvery grey and had a curvature along the top, just like its M-8 counterpart, except it came attached with a top-of-the-line scope capable of different vision and zoom settings. With adjustable firing rate between single, burst and full auto, when she really needed to bring down the firepower on something particularly nasty, and with upgraded heat emission systems that allowed for up to 60 shots per thermal clip, Shepard knew she _had_ to get her hands on it.

With her new Stingray holstered on her back and Garrus and Silverwood at her flanks, they were heading back to the Normandy via Citadel Rapid Transit, but they were in no rush. They had taken care of the their business on the Citadel much faster than Shepard had anticipated, so the crew, who she had dismissed for four hours for some 'recreation' before the long journey they were heading into, were not going to return to the ship for some time. All she could do now was to sit and wait at the ship for the crew to return and then they would set off after the Collectors. Shepard regretted giving her crew so much leave; she _hated_ waiting around with nothing to do. As they waited for the CRT skycar to arrive, she noticed Garrus was looking a little fidgety at her left flank.

"Something on your mind, Garrus?" Shepard asked, crossing her arms but still at ease. If there was something bothering one of her crew members, let alone someone part of her ground team, she wanted to know about it and she wanted to fix it.

"Say, Shepard," Garrus replied, pausing a little as if he was choosing his words overly carefully, "That Stingray's scope mod is nice, but your Carnifex looks a little lonely." He fidgeted a little, shifting from one leg to the other. "I mean sure that thing packs a punch, but don't you think it could use a little company?"

"I guess. What are you suggesting?" Shepard said, narrowing her eyes as she stared up at him, although Garrus had always thought that whenever she did so, it felt like she was staring _down_ at him. "Spit it out."

Shepard's use of the human idiom did not trouble the turian; he had become acclimated to them during his time on the SR1. "You want to shop for some mods? Kill time?"

"Sure, why not?" Shepard uncrossed her arms and un-narrowed her eyes, a little surprised but glad that her friend had made the suggestion, "Sure as hell beats waiting around in the Normandy." She was still unsure why Garrus had been a little fidgety, though.

"Good," Garrus said, before turning to Silverwood with a look that the human could not decipher completely. It was a little threatening, but also a little pleading, Silverwood could make out, but the expression disappeared almost instantly so that Shepard could not catch it, the turian's face returning to its neutral form. "You coming?"

Silverwood paused for a moment in consideration before he replied. "My apologies, but I think I'll skip out on this one," he said, sounding matter of fact, "I have some _errands_ to run." As he turned around to walk away from the duo, he looked back at them to add, with a very subtle smirk, "Don't want to crowd the galaxy's best rifle with an _overabundance_ of mods."

Garrus' mandibles fluttered nervously and Shepard had a mildly confused expression on her face as they watched Silverwood disappear into the scramble of busy people.

There was no sniper rifle without its scope. No Han Solo without Chewie. No Holmes without Watson.

* * *

The second shop they went to was one with actual products on display around the shop, which was a rarity for modern times on the Citadel.

"You might like this one," Garrus said, holding up the thermal clip extension mod, "Seeing as how you seem to burn through your clips every fight."

"You saying I'm a bad shot?" Shepard said with mirth and a raised eyebrow, looking at the mod in the turian's hand, "I recall that I'm ahead in our little game, Vakarian."

"Just saying that you use _four_ rounds for things that _I_ could do with one," Garrus' mandibles tightened in a mock challenge, "You never know when you'll need those few extra shots. I won't always be around to pick off the scraps that you missed."

"I always have my trusty elbow for situations like those," Shepard said, grinning almost proudly.

"Come on. Think of the vids if _the_ Commander Shepard gets taken out by some merc grunt because her sidearm overheated." Garrus said as he pointed the mod towards Shepard.

Shepard gave a genuine laugh at that thought, taking the mod, "You're right. I'll take it."

As they left the shop after Shepard purchased the mod at a discount (apparently the shop owner was a fan of the Commander), there was a momentary silence in the air as they slowly walked over to the CRT terminal to make their way back to the Normandy.

"Shepard," Garrus said suddenly, sounding a little serious, "I lied back there."

"What?" Shepard said, crossing her arms and expecting a joke from her friend, "I usually use _five_ rounds instead of four?"

"No," Garrus chuckled, "I'll always be there to clean up your scraps." The turian gazed intensely at Shepard for a moment before breaking it off nervously. "When you need me to, of course," he added.

Shepard knew what he meant.

After Mindoir, she had closed off almost all of the people around her as she fiercely progressed through the ranks of the Alliance Navy. She'd lost her family and friends, her entire childhood. She was not going let herself get hurt that way again; no one was going to get too close. Yet, Death always seemed to follow her around like it was playing some sort of joke on her. Every time she started to open up to someone, she would end up watching them die, during some stupid patrol or a "textbook" scouting mission, without warning. By the time she started to serve on the Normandy SR1, she was wary, afraid even, of forming any close connection with anyone.

Kaidan had changed that. He'd _saved_ her, given her a reason to live, other than to maintain peace and to ensure the survival of the sentient occupants of the galaxy. Then Death came back to pull another one of his pranks on her again and just like that, he was gone. _She_ failed to save _him_.

It had made her scared, letting Garrus become such a close friend to her, letting him become such an important part of her life. It made her almost want to push him away, to push everyone away and to tackle everything head on by herself, no matter how impossible it was. Some part of her would rather die alone and fail her mission, essentially dooming the galaxy, rather than see her friends get taken away by Death again.

And yet she couldn't. She _had_ to save the galaxy. No one else was going to do it, unfortunately, and to pull it off she would need the best of the best on the field, but what she needed just as much was support _off_ the field. They supported her just as much as she did to them.

Her close friendship with Garrus made her afraid, but it was worth it, for the both of them. They _needed_ each other.

"Thanks, Garrus," Shepard said, smiling softly as she looked at the turian until their eyes met, "I have your back to."

There was no Shepard without Vakarian, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

They were now heading towards Purgatory to recruit the Convict, Jack. It would take a few days to get there, even through the use of mass relays, which gave Shepard more than enough time for her to plan through what she would do when the Convict became unstable, in her mind, inevitably. All she could do now was to wait until they arrived and actually see what the Convict was like for herself; he might be surprisingly easy to handle, but somehow she doubted that.

Shepard was sitting at her desk in her quarters, grimacing at the thought of the very likely possibility of being forced to either talk down or _put_ down a raging biotic, when her omnitool pinged.

 _"Shepard, may I have a word with you in your quarters?"_ the display showed Lance's serious expression. It sounded urgent.

"Sure. The door's open," Shepard said, as she got off of her chair and stood up to stretch. Adequate blood flow was always good to have when dealing with _urgent_ matters.

It was only a few moments before Lance came walking in through the door. He was still wearing a suit, except this one was navy and double-breasted. The obviously very well-tailored suit hugged his shoulders just right and complimented his figure nicely, Shepard had to admit.

Lance spoke immediately after the door had finished closing behind him, "It's about Miss Goto." He was quiet, almost whispering, despite the fact that there almost was no need to; Lance had already checked for bugs in Shepard's cabins and it was mostly soundproof unless you were intentionally trying to eavesdrop. _Mostly_ was the keyword and Lance, Shepard noticed, seemed to take every precaution when it came to secrets, just like Lawson or perhaps more so.

"What about her?" Shepard asked with a heavy tone and crossing her arms as she usually did when she wanted to exude an authoritative aura.

"The graybox she is after, the one which belonged to Keiji Okuda?" Lance asked, continuing when Shepard nodded in remembrance, "It contains some very, _very_ sensitive information, the likes of which that cannot be retrieved and be seen by the eyes of the _uninitiated_."

"So you don't want to retrieve it?" Shepard asked, planning on different ways she could potentially convince Kasumi to remain in her team.

"Of course I do, Shepard," Lance said, putting his hands deep into his pockets, maintaining a relaxed pose, "I'll just have to confiscate it when we do, at least until I remove all of the classified data."

Shepard groaned inwardly, "She's _not_ going to like that." She knew very little of the thief, but she knew that for sure. It would take a whole lot of careful and tactful convincing for that to happen, something Shepard had a knack for, she admitted, but it was _not_ something she enjoyed doing often. "And that's where _I_ come in?"

"It's what you're good at," Lance teased as a wry grin appeared on his face momentarily before it was soon replaced by one which was nonchalant. "Either that or the device must be confiscated for good. Your call."

"Can't exactly do that if we want to keep her with us," Shepard said, "You're telling me that the information contained in the graybox is worth more than her?"

"Exactly. You're catching on quickly," Lance replied, "Information is everything."

* * *

The Convict's recruitment had gone as 'smoothly' as any of Shepard's missions went nowadays.

"Howdy," Shepard said lightly yet cautiously as she walked down the stairs towards Jack's 'quarters'. What she'd seen of the biotic's capabilities back on Purgatory were enough to make anybody remain cautious, even the Commander herself.

"Cut the crap," Jack replied harshly, "I only came because you promised me _full_ access to the files."

"The files will come, Jack," Shepard said, crossing her arms as she stood next to the seated biotic, "It just takes time. You know how it is."

"They better be coming, or you bet your ass _I'll_ be coming for _you_ ," Jack snarled, jagging her tattooed covered and bony index finger towards the Commander.

"You need to trust me," Shepard said, as she tightened her stance and planted her feet firmly, "And I _don't_ take threats lightly."

"I don't do trust," Jack said, glaring up at Shepard and looking ready to pounce at her at any moment, her voice unwavering and fierce.

"Well you're going to have to learn it, or you'll be leaving this ship without those files," Shepard replied, narrowing her eyes, " _That_ , I can guarantee."

The two women stared at each other for a moment as they analysed their opposition, a raging silence filling the room.

"Fine," Jack finally said after a tense moment of volatility, "I'll wait, but they better come sooner than later." The biotic stood up sharply and headed over towards one of the tables. "I can do a lot of damage to a ship from the inside," she said, glancing back at Shepard and laying down to nap on the table. "Now _piss off_."

Shepard turned briskly and proceeded to exit the room, making sure to maintain her authoritative posture until she was out of sight, and when she was sure she was out of ear shot, she let out a long sigh, letting her shoulders sag and relax, before heading back into the elevator.

 _She's going to be a handful_.

Leaning against the elevator wall, enjoying the short, yet sweet moment of solace during her ride up to the Crew Quarters, Shepard opened her comms line to Joker, "How's the flight."

 _"Everything's good so far, Commander. ETA at Bekenstein is in five hours,"_ the flight lieutenants voice transmitted crisply in Shepard's ear.

"Good. Let me know if you need anything," Shepard replied, straightening herself up as the elevator arrived at her destination. " _Other_ than a girlfriend," she added with a smirk so wide Joker could hear it on the other side.

Any other Alliance officer and that last line would have been crossing the line, but not this one. In fact, over the time she had spent with Joker, she noticed that he actually performed better in the midst of some friendly banter. He seemed to innately thrive in competitive environments.

Plus, she actually enjoyed it.

 _"Right back at you Commander,"_ Joker riposted, _"Jack seems like a nice gal. How about it? You can be like Garrus and have a stick up your -"_

Shepard cut off the comms abruptly, as she always did with her favourite pilot, leaving the elevator and making her way towards the main battery. The chance to think about an important decision never came often enough, so when she did have one, she _had_ to consult her most trusted companion.

* * *

"And you want _my_ advice?" Garrus said jokingly after he had finished listening to what Shepard had to say regarding Kasumi and her graybox, "Shepard, you're the one that excels in these situations."

"I can't take the credit for everything," Shepard said with a grin, but also with a touch of desperation, Garrus noticed, as her eyes lingered on his for a short moment longer than usual.

After careful consideration, Garrus spoke in an abruptly serious tone, "We can't risk a potential information leak that could spark up a war at a time like this. Not with so much on the line. If it comes down to it, confiscate it."

Shepard knew Garrus was right; losing one member of her team was acceptable in comparison to risking galaxy wide conflict. Although she didn't exactly know what the information was, Lance had been convincing enough about its danger for her to be cautious.

"That's what Lance said as well," Shepard said, before letting out a long sigh. She knew what her job was, but she also knew what it meant to get closure on the death of someone close. She could only hope that the thief would be cooperative.


End file.
